Une Révolution Victorieuse
by Camberleigh Fauconbridge
Summary: If the Paris Uprising of 1832 had gone differently, there might have been different feelings between different activists… 25th Anniversary. AU. Enjonine. DISCONTINUED.
1. Chapter 1

**Imagined Cast**: Alfie Boe as Jean Valjean; Norm Lewis as Javert; Lea Salonga as Fantine; Matt Lucas as Innkeeper Thénardier; Jenny Galloway as Madame Thénardier; Nick Jonas as Marius Pontmercy; Samantha Barks as Éponine Thénardier; Katie Hall as Cosette Fauchelevant; Ramin Karimloo as Enjolras; Robert Madge as Gavroche; Mia Jenkins as Young Cosette.

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing. The characters, setting and general plot are property of Victor Hugo, Cameron Mackintosh, all of the casts and all of the creative teams that have produced any production of _Les Misérables_.

**Note**: This is based off the musical stage adaption, _not_ off any film adaption or the original novel. There are elements of the book (street names of the locations in numerous French towns and cities; family ties are also as they are in the novel), but almost all of the information comes from the musical stage adaption.

I have made a change: giving the character of Enjolras a surname. Before all the book/musical purists attack me, here is my explanation: I have never leaned toward the name "Enjolras" as a surname. Therefore, since this is my take on _Les Misérables_, this is my name for him: Enjolras Louis-Philippe D'Aubigne. The middle name is a reference to Louis-Philippe I of France, the king of the July Monarchy. The surname is a reference to Nigel D'Aubigne, who fought in the Battle of Hastings (ironically, the French fought and won that battle).

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><p><em>Prologue<em>: A Hawk and a Sparrow

**Paris, France, June 1832**

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><p>A seventeen-year-old young woman sat by the grimy window of her family's small apartment in the Gorbeau House on the Rue des Vignes-Saint Marcel, gazing at the street below. A movement in the sky caught her attention.<p>

In the sky above the _rue_, a large hawk circled, its beady eyes searching for prey. Its gaze landed on a nest near the window of the Gorbeau House. Three tiny hatchlings surrounded a female sparrow. The male sparrow perched dexterously on the rim of the nest, watching the hawk carefully.

Without warning, the hawk dived. The male sparrow immediately rose in defense and met the hawk in midair. The young woman in the window watched the events unfold, mesmerized yet sure the hawk would kill the sparrow.

The hawk snapped its curved beak at the sparrow, causing the sparrow to dart back and forth in an absurd, deadly game of cat-and-mouse.

The hawk seemed to tire of the sparrow's antics and dived sharply. In a desperate move, the sparrow dashed forward and hooked its claw on the hawk's wing. The hawk flapped its wing frantically, but the sparrow held fast. The hawk finally freed its wing and flew off, nursing its injured wing.

The sparrow flew back to the nest, where the three hatchlings and the female sparrow chirped almost with praise. The male sparrow puffed its chest in pride.

The young woman leaned against the windowpane, thinking. _What have I just seen?_ she asked herself. _The small defeating the great, the weak overpowering the strong…_

Though she did not know it, it could be an omen. An omen of what was to come.


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter One_: Saint-Paul-Saint-Louis Église

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><p>Éponine, under duress, followed her father's gang through the dirty, twisting streets of Paris. The Patron-Minette was a group of thieving, brutal men, and Éponine did not know why her father associated with them. Then again, she did not know why Fabien Thénardier did anything he did these days.<p>

Thénardier led them into a small, crowded commons area filled with the poor. Beggars lined the buildings amongst ladies of the evening calling to prospective customers.

Thénardier motioned for the group to gather in a circle. "'Ere's the plan," he said. "'Ponine goes up them university students an' distracts 'em. Then th' rest of us come in an' finishes th' job. Got it?" They nodded, and Éponine left.

There were two students in the streets that day: Marius Pontmercy and Enjolras D'Aubigne. They were gathering a crowd around them, and Enjolras was delivering a speech with fiery, passionate words.

Enjolras was handsome, with dark hair that always seemed disheveled and deep black eyes that could drown you. But as handsome as Enjolras was, Éponine preferred Marius.

Marius had been her friend ever since her father had ordered her to steal from him. She had gone up, preparing to steal his pocket watch, when he turned.

The sight of him had made her forget the plan, forget everything.

He had pitied her and given her a _sou_. Then he had left her trying to make sure her brain still emitted coherent thoughts. She had run after him, desperate to prove she was different from the rest of the poor.

He had started inviting her to the political meetings he attended, in _Le Café Musian_ on the Place Saint-Michel. It was a society of Republican university students, led by Enjolras D'Aubigne, a student of the Sorbonne University. They called themselves _l'amis de l'abaissé_, "the friends of the lowered".

A man knocked into her, breaking her thoughts. Éponine stepped to the side, murmuring an apology, but the man grabbed her arm. She wrenched her arm out of his hold, eyes blazing. She took his arm and twisted it, sending him to the ground. She kicked him for good measure and continued walking.

Marius stood to the side of Enjolras. Éponine gazed at Marius for a moment before he saw her; memorizing— as she often did— Marius' features. The way his hair occasionally flopped in his eyes, the way his eyes would flash with passion and fervor for the cause he fought.

Marius caught sight of her. Smiling, he picked up a book and walked to her as Enjolras continued speaking. "What are you doing here, 'Ponine?" he asked in a low voice.

"I came to see you, Marius." She smiled in what she hoped was a charming way. He did not seem to notice.

"Did you hear what people are saying about Gen. Lamarque?"

Gen. Jean Maximilien Lamarque was the only member of the French Parliament who cared about the lives of the poor. Éponine nodded. "They're saying he's ill. If the rumors are true, he won't last the week."

"Enjolras is making plans to start the—" he mouthed the word _revolution_, looking around carefully "—at Lamarque's funeral. He's hoping the people will start riots at the funeral procession."

"What if they don't?"

Marius looked surprised, as if the thought had never occurred to him. "Of course they will. We're fighting for them, after all."

Éponine sighed and changed the subject. "I could be a student, too, you know. I can read, write, and do sums. My mother taught me when we lived in Montfermeil." She took the book out of Marius' hand and flipped through it.

Marius took the book back, laughing. "I like the way you tease, 'Ponine."

Éponine matched his light mood. "I like the way you style your hair, Marius."

Marius and Éponine noticed an older man and a young woman with thick blonde hair came into the commons area. A basket filled with alms hung from her arm.

As the blonde woman commenced to hand out the alms to the beggars, Thénardier's voiced hissed at her across the commons area. "'urry up!"

Éponine started slightly. Seeing Marius begin to walk to the man, she pushed him back and ignored the fluttering in her stomach at the contact. "Don't interfere, Marius."

"Who is that man?"

"I don't know, and you'll be better off not knowing, either."

"I can't just stand here and let him be robbed!"

"Yes, you can, because you won't get arrested! Listen to me: _don't get in the way_. The _gendarmes_ won't care that you're a baron; they'll arrest you all the same, and no one can bail you out!"

"Éponine! I am not going to let him be raided!" Marius broke free of her grasp and moved towards the man. As Éponine, seething, ran after him, he tripped over the hem of the blonde woman's traveling cloak. They turned to look at one another.

For Éponine, time crashed to a shuddering halt in the commons area. The blonde woman stared unabashed at Marius, seeming to struggle for breath. The sight that truly broke Éponine's heart, however, was that Marius looked the same way.

Her own breath shallow, Éponine turned and ran into a side alley. The shadows, safe and dark, seemed to beckon her. Because of the almost nonexistent light, she did not see Enjolras D'Aubigne and ran straight into him.

"_Je regrette_, M. D'Aubigne. I did not see where I was going. Forgive me for running into you, monsieur." She was rambling, stumbling out a mixture of disjointed words.

"It's all right," Enjolras replied. "I am in blame as much as you are. I also could not glimpse you in the shadows, mademoiselle." Éponine was grateful for the darkness at that moment, for it conveniently covered her flushed face.

The inevitable silence came and stretched for minutes. Éponine could not stand the discomfiture she felt and spoke. "I need to go, monsieur." _Why on earth did I just say that?_

"_Au revoir_, mademoiselle." Enjolras bowed elegantly.

"_Au revoir_, monsieur." Éponine curtsied and fled the alley, attempting to disregard the blood rushing to her face.

Her father and the Patron-Minette were surrounding the older man. Éponine could not see the blonde woman.

Then three police officers entered the commons area. As much as Éponine wished to see her father get what he deserved, she knew what she had to do.

She ran to the Patron-Minette and hissed a warning. "The _gendarmes_ are coming! We've got to run for it."

The Patron-Minette scattered, but the police surrounded them. The chief police officer, a tall man with dark skin and even darker eyes, spoke. "I am tired of the vermin that swarm the streets. If you have something to say that does not waste my time, then speak."

"I meant no 'arm, m'sieur," Thénardier said in a groveling, pathetic tone. "I'm just a poor man 'oo's tryin' to get some food for 'is starvin' family. Me daughter's ill, an'—"

"Enough." The police officer's eyes grew stormy. "Why were you attempting to rob this gentleman?" He turned, but the older man and the blonde woman had disappeared from the commons area.

"I knew 'im, see. We go a ways back, 'im an' me. I can recall, _m'sieur le inspecteur_, that 'e 'ad a brand o' some numbers and such on 'is chest—"

"A brand of numbers…" The police officer's eyes grew thoughtful, then hardened. "No matter. Monsieur, you are guilty of attempted larceny and assault, as are your companions."

"Lar— what?"

"Larceny. Theft. However, since you are, among other things, too dimwitted to know proper speech, and since I am feeling rarely kind at present, I will spare you from the _bagne_. Let this be a warning to you, monsieur, if you attempt anything in the future." Thénardier nodded eagerly, an anything-but-genuine expression on his face.

The police officer looked around the commons area, at the poor silently watching the group. "Go about your business!" He turned and left the commons area with the other police officers.

Thénardier turned to Éponine and the Patron-Minette. "That _gendarme_ 'as t' go. Same as th' old man."

"Papa—" Éponine began.

"Quiet, 'Ponine!" Thénardier snarled. "Let's meet at th' Gorbeau 'ouse later t'day." The members of the Patron-Minette nodded, but Éponine left.

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><p>Éponine slowly pushed open the heavy door of the church. It creaked as it slid shut after she entered.<p>

Saint-Paul-Saint-Louis Church, on Rue Saint-Antoine, number 99. It was a good distance from Rue des Vignes-Saint Marcel, but the walk was a welcome relief from her life, and she always felt a strange yet reassuring peace whenever she entered the church.

Éponine walked into the empty church and, slipping inside a pew in the back row, knelt. Her mother had a rosary, faded and slightly battered from years of use, but it was still at the Gorbeau House and she did not want to go all the way back to Rue des Vignes-Saint Marcel.

Éponine did not know what she really thought of the saints and God. She was a Catholic, as all the French were, but she was not as strong in her faith and beliefs as others were.

The door to the pew next to her opened, and a man knelt on the upholstery. Enjolras D'Aubigne.

Before she could stop herself, Éponine found herself glancing at Enjolras from the corner of her eye. He seemed lost in thought, focused on the wood of the pew. His lips moved soundlessly as he mouthed a prayer. From her peripheral, she saw him murmur "amen" and sigh deeply.

A few moments passed in silence, both lost in thought. Outside the stained-glass windows, birds called to one another. Looking once more to make certain she would not interrupt his devotions, Éponine spoke.

"May I ask you a question, monsieur?"

They looked at each other directly for the first time. "_Oui_," Enjolras replied. "But before I answer your question, I must insist you discontinue calling me 'monsieur'. My name is Enjolras, and one day I hope I will be allowed to call you by your Christian name as well. We are all equal in the eyes of God."

"Yes, mon— Enjolras." Éponine took a shaky, deep breath. "I have a question about faith, and I hope you will be able to answer it." Enjolras nodded.

"I have recently grown… shaky in my faith. I still attend Mass, I still go to confession, I still pray to the saints and God. But I am not sure what I believe anymore. Why would God take a decent life as innkeepers from my family? Why would God cause my brother to run away and cut all ties? Why would God allow my father to—" she almost said the word _beat_ and caught her tongue "—to steal and associate with criminals? Why would God cause my father to force me to participate in my father's crimes?" Her words were rushed now. She was confessing more that she had intended.

Then the words left her lips before her mind registered what she said. "Why would God have me be friends with Marius when he loves the very girl who used to work for my family and I love Marius?"

Éponine froze as she realized what she had said. "I— _je_ _regrette_. I did not mean to say all those— things."

"You needed to." Éponine looked at Enjolras, surprised. "I suspect you have had those 'things', as you call them, for some time. You deserve to utter your feelings."

She sighed. "I suppose you're right."

"I don't pretend to know all the answers, but I can answer you the best I can with the knowledge I have.

"God is not cruel, Éponine. He cares for everything on this earth, and that includes you, whether you believe it or not. He was not punishing you when you were born into the working class; I suspect He was, and still is, preparing you for something. You know how to survive in the worst conditions a Parisian could face, and you have lived through it. Your family situation may not be the best, but at least some of your family loves you. You can depend on them.

"And as for the circumstances concerning Marius…" Enjolras seemed uncomfortable. "I am not the best person to give advice on— relationships of that sort." She smiled softly and sank on her heels, thinking. Enjolras quietly stood from the kneeling position and departed. He looked back once at her bowed figure before exiting, leaving her to consider the words.

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><p><strong>This is for all FanFic readers who cannot stand religion in Fanfics. Éponine's life <strong>_**completely**_** sucks, all right? When she was little, she was somewhat respectable as the daughter of an innkeeper. A few years after Jean Valjean adopted Cosette, the Thénardiers lost **_**The Sergent at Waterloo**_** and became beggars and thieves in Paris. Why **_**shouldn't**_** she be angry and unsure? It gives her character, instead of the lovesick homeless **_**gamine**_** who has no backbone whatever. If you don't like it, then don't read it, and don't vent in the reviews about how it sucks. Please. I respect everyone's opinions, but please do not say that religion should be outlawed on this website.**

**Anyway. I hope I balanced the Éponine/Marius and Éponine/Enjolras well. This is going to be Éponine/Enjolras, but I do not think they should immediately fall in love. They would not be normal if they did. It seems unrealistic.**

**And did anyone catch what the church is referencing? Hint: it's in The Brick…**


	3. Chapter 3

_Chapter Two_: First

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><p>Éponine wandered through the streets later that evening, her mind still whirling with Enjolras' words. What had Enjolras meant when he said God was preparing her for something? God surely would not use someone like her.<p>

Would He?

A hand was on her shoulder. She twisted around, ready to defend herself— there were many different people in the streets of Paris after dark— and recognized Marius.

She heaved a sigh and gently removed his hand from her shoulder. "You scared me half to death, Marius."

Marius seemed dazed. "Do you know who that girl was, 'Ponine?"

Her light tone faded. "A rich bourgeois doll, that's who."

"You have to help me find her!" Marius grasped Éponine's shoulders as if he were to shake her.

She looked in him in the eye evenly. "I _have_ to? She's that important to you? You don't even know her name, Marius!"

"She dropped her handkerchief, and it was embroidered with the initials _U.F._ Her name could be Ursula!"

"Marius, listen to yourself! You've seen her once and already you're obsessed with the idea of her!" _That's what you're doing, 'Ponine_, a voice in the back of her mind chastened her. She pushed it in the back of her mind and focused on the situation at hand. "You don't know anything about her!"

Marius did not listen. "Say you'll help me, 'Ponine! Please! I'll do anything!"

"Really?" Éponine said quietly, almost saying the word as a statement, not a question. She did not think of what she could gain from the situation. She only thought of how sad, how pitiful, it was, Marius obsessing over a girl he had seen once before.

Marius reached in his pocket and drew out a _sou_. The coin glinted in his palm, reminding Éponine of the day they met. She backed away slightly. "Don't offer me money, Marius. I'm not that desperate. But I'll help you if you stop badgering me about her."

"Thank you, Éponine!" Before she could leave, Marius leaned forward and kissed her quickly on the cheek. Then he ran, leaving Éponine in the street. Éponine stood still, her fingers brushing her cheek.

Her first kiss.

It wasn't as satisfactory as she had thought it would. It had almost been too fast to remember the sensation of his lips on her cheek.

She walked down the street in a daze, not sure of where she was going. _Stop it, 'Ponine_, she told herself. _Find where the girl lives, and this will be over. It was only a kiss_.

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><p><strong>And did anyone catch what Marius is saying when he calls Cosette "Ursula"? It's in The Brick as well…<strong>


	4. Chapter 4

_Chapter Three_: Death Is a Beginning

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><p>Enjolras sat at a table in the back room of <em>Le Café Musian<em>, preparing for the next meeting. Papers bearing the markings of maps and official documents covered the surface of the table. He wrote quickly and feverously as the members of the Society of the Friends of the _Abaissé_ trickled in.

The back room of the cafe was dim, thanks to the small window overlooking the Rue Saint-Michel. The room itself was almost like a basement of sorts, being set lower in the earth than the rest of the café. A set of wooden stairs led from the door attached to the café to the floor of the room. A large red banner covered one wall, while maps of France under the Republic covered the other.

By the time Enjolras finished writing, the members of the Society filled the room. Éponine sat alone in the back, which surprised Enjolras. Normally, she was never seen far from Marius' side. Although she kept up a convincing pretense of friendship with the baron, it was apparent to everyone except the object of her affections she loved Marius.

Enjolras slid the parchment several inches away, pushing the thought of Éponine's situation from his mind for the moment, and focused on the meeting. "Combeferre, how are the arrangements at Notre-Dame?"

"Prepared for an attack," Combeferre answered.

"What about Rue de Bac?"

"The same, Enjolras," Feuilly replied. "The people are growing restless. They will come to our side once the revolution starts."

"We can hope, Feuilly. We have no way of knowing they will."

Courfeyrac spoke. "We can hold off the_ gardes nationaux_ on our own!"

"Are you certain of that?" Enjolras asked. "The _Armée de Terre_ trains the _gardes nationaux_ for war, and the _gardes nationaux_ have an unlimited access to arms and gunpowder. We are a group of university students who do not have access to arms. What we do have on our side is the support of the people."

The door suddenly swung open. Marius stood in the threshold.

"You're late, Marius," Enjolras said.

"Sorry," Marius murmured inattentively, looking dazed.

Grantaire raised a bottle of wine in a mock-toast. "Have you seen a ghost, Pontmercy? Come in and have a drink."

Marius stumbled down the steps and sat at Grantaire's table, a glass of wine pushed into his hands. "A ghost may be right. She certainly acted like one."

Enjolras' gaze gazed flickered to Éponine. Her eyes beseeched Enjolras not to reveal their conversation in the church.

"Who do you speak of?" Enjolras asked carefully.

"A woman, an angel, with hair like spun sunrays and eyes like pure sapphires." Marius replied. Éponine looked pale.

"You're sure you didn't see a lady of the evening?" Grantaire said. "I can name off many women who fit that description; Mlle. Musichetta Bellerose, Joly's mistress, included—"

Marius looked appalled. "How _dare_ you call my beloved a lady of the evening!"

"Oh, so she's your _beloved_ now?"

"Grantaire!" Enjolras cut in before Marius could attack the drunkard. "We are not gathered here to discuss Marius' romantic life outside the university!" Grantaire looked ready to argue, but wisely held his tongue. Enjolras looked around the room. "Or have you all forgotten our cause?" Sheepish expressions covered the faces of the members, who had been watching the argument with interest.

"We do not come here to sit back and let the world be run by autocrats. We come here to better the lives of the poor."

"Finally, someone's talking sense."

All eyes turned to Éponine, who had been silent for the majority of the meeting. She met their gaze. "Enjolras is right. It's about time someone helped the poor. We don't have enough influence, so we depend on you students to help us."

"What do you suggest might help the revolution, Éponine?" Enjolras inquired.

"For what I know of the _gendarmes_, they don't take too well to 'talking things out'. The same is true with the _gardes nationaux_. Don't waste time on hollow negotiations; attack without delay."

"Point taken." Enjolras had never known Éponine to harbor political opinions, but once she spoke, she revealed herself to be a valuable ally. He found himself admiring her intellect; most women he spoke with avoided the subject of politics like the plague.

_You admire more than just her intellect, don't you?_ a voice in his mind whispered, taunting. Before he could chasten the voice, the door swung open for the second time.

This time, a _gamin_ stood in the doorway. It was the younger brother of Éponine— Gavroche, was it?— who haunted the Rue Saint-Michel. Enjolras had heard Éponine telling Marius about Gavroche; how her brother had run away at a young age and had lived on the streets ever since.

The members of the Society broke the silence and began talking all at once, arguing about Éponine's view. Gavroche attempted to shout over the noise.

"'_ey_!" he finally yelled. When the members of the Society quieted, staring at the _gamin_, he spoke to Enjolras. "I 'ave some information, m'sieur, that you might find useful."

"What is it, Gavroche?"

Gavroche came into the room and stopped in front of Enjolras' table. "Gen. Lamarque died this mornin'."

Silence filled the room.

The members of the Society looked at their hands, at their glasses of wine, at each other; anywhere expect at Enjolras. Enjolras could feel the tension, like hair standing up on the back of his neck. If he did not speak, they would sit in silence until the landlord of the café kicked them out.

"The riots."

The members finally looked at Enjolras.

He continued. "Lamarque was the people's man. The people will be furious that they lost the only leader who cared about their welfare. His funeral procession is the best opportunity to begin the revolution."

Éponine was the first to respond. "That makes sense."

Enjolras rifled through the papers in front of him and pulled out a map. "Come look at this, Gavroche. You as well, Éponine. I need to know the route the funeral procession will take."

The siblings gathered around the table, looking closely at the map. Éponine pointed to the Rue Saint-Honoré. "They're going to start at Lamarque's home, on the Rue Saint-Honoré, near the Place de la Concorde." Her hand moved to each location as she spoke. "They will stop at the Place de la Bastille, then go to the Place Vendôme." Her finger rested on a printed name on the map. "They will then rest at the Boulevard Montmatre before traveling out of Paris to the Landes."

"The Boulevard Montmatre?" Enjolras' hand moved unconsciously to the words.

Their hands met for a split second. Enjolras felt a shock of energy curse through his body at the contact. The subject of the map and the funeral procession flew out of his mind.

Éponine's cheek grew flushed, and she pulled her hand away. "Yes," she whispered, looking down.

Grantaire's voice cut into the fog that had descended onto Enjolras' mind. "Where are we going to get all the guns?"

Enjolras and Éponine both jumped slightly. "We'll find them, have no doubt," Enjolras said quickly, hoping no one noticed. Éponine turned and escaped to the back of the room.

The meeting soon broke up thereafter. One of the first to leave was Éponine, who dragged Marius out the door. She did not look at Enjolras as she left, though her reddened cheeks betrayed her emotions. Enjolras stayed after everyone else had left, telling the others he had unfinished work to complete.

He did not work on anything, however, once the room was empty. He fingered the barb of the quill feather in his hand, lost in thought.

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><p><strong>I hope this makes the fans of ÉponineEnjolras happy, that they are starting to like each other.**


	5. Chapter 5

_Chapter Four_: Rue Plumet, No. 55

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><p>"I found her, Marius."<p>

They were walking down the Rue Saint-Michel together. Éponine reached in her pocket and handed Marius the creased paper with the words that taunted her. "Rue Plumet, number 55?" Marius read aloud.

"Her address."

"Oh." Then he turned to face her, his expression eager. "You went to the house? You know the way?"

She sighed and replied reluctantly. "_Oui_."

"Take me to her. Please, 'Ponine! I'm—"

"You're 'lost until she's found' and all that. I know. I'll take you to her."

"Really?"

"Of course. That's what friends do for each other." The words hung in the air, tormenting her. _Friends, 'Ponine?_

The journey to Rue Plumet was silent, each wrapped in their own thoughts. When they reached the _rue_, she started to speak— what she planned to say, she did not know— but Marius interrupted her.

"Is this the house?" She nodded. No. 55 was a townhouse on the edge of the street. A tall stone wall restrained the overgrown garden. Marius rolled up his sleeves, and then grasped the stone wall.

"Marius!" Éponine whispered as loud as she dared. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like? I'm climbing the wall!"

"Why on earth are you _climbing_ the wall?"

"Do you see any other way to get in?"

"Why can't you just pick the lock on the gate? Marius, come back! _Mon Dieu_, you're going to scare her half to death!" Marius ignored her and reached the top of the wall. Light shone from the top window. Éponine could see movement in the door leading to the balcony.

Marius swung his legs over the ledge and, after hesitating for a moment, jumped on the ground below. The sound of broken branches and a whispered curse carried over the wall. "_Marius_!" she whispered.

There was no reply. Éponine turned and ran to the gate. She clutched the dark iron bars, straining to see in the darkness.

Marius stood in the middle of the garden, looking at the abandoned balcony. He tossed something in his hand, seeming unsure, and then threw it to the balcony's door.

The movement in the room with the balcony stopped. Then the door flung open, and the blonde woman from the commons area leaned over the railing. She wore a dress of watered gray silk with partially puffed sleeves, and her long hair hung curled and loose. Her crystal-blue eyes widened in shock, then realization.

Marius spoke. "Mademoiselle—" But the woman disappeared back inside with a flurry of silk. Éponine heard Marius cursing himself.

Then the main door opened, and the woman ran out, nearly knocking Marius over in her haste. She backed up to the threshold, embarrassment covering her features.

"I'm sorry, mademoiselle—" Marius began, but the woman cut him off.

"Don't be." Her tone was clear, bell-like, soft; everything that Éponine's voice was not. "Was it you, monsieur, that ran into me in the commons area?"

Marius shifted uncomfortable. "Again, I must apologize for—"

"Don't apologize, monsieur. I'm glad you did run into me."

Marius looked surprised and hopeful. "If I may be so bold, mademoiselle, as to inquire of your name? I am Marius Pontmercy." He bowed.

She curtsied gracefully in return. "I am Cosette, M. Pontmercy."

"Please—" he took Cosette's hand in his "—don't call me 'monsieur'."

She curtsied again. "Yes, Marius. And you may call me Cosette."

"I— words have failed me at this moment, Cosette."

Cosette touched Marius' lips in a gentle movement. "Then don't waste words," she said softly.

Éponine gripped the gate so tightly her knuckles turned colorless, blinking back tears of fury. She had known Marius for _years_, and here he was, falling for a girl he met that morning. A girl who had worked as a servant for her family. Why would a benevolent God force her to witness this, knowing she loved Marius?

_Do you love him?_

Éponine started slightly, looking over her shoulder. She was alone in the street, and she was certain neither Marius nor Cosette would speak to her at this moment. _Who on earth just spoke to me?_

_Do you love him?_

Her mind argued back at the anonymous voice. _Of course I do—_

She hesitated.

_Do you love him?_

_I… I do_, her mind replied carefully. _But now he's proclaiming his undying love for Cosette, telling her he has never loved anyone else. If that's true…_

_Do you love him?_

She drew a shaky breath. _I thought I did. I think I was just— in love with the _idea _of him._

_Do you love him?_

Éponine sank to the ground, hidden among the bushes planted outside the wall.

_N— no._

Several shadowed figures moved towards the townhouse. As they drew closer, Éponine inhaled sharply_. Please, please let me be wrong. Did Papa plan to rob them while I was gone?_ She stood and looked back into the garden. Éponine could not see Marius and Cosette. _Good_.

She stayed by the wall, hidden by the shadows as the Patron-Minette reached the wall. One by one, they silently scaled the wall. Cursing, Éponine stayed hidden for a few more moments, and then followed them. The Patron-Minette gathered in the middle of the garden as Éponine dropped to the ground. The men turned as Éponine approached them.

"What are you doing here?" she hissed at Thénardier.

"We've come t' straighten out a debt, me dear," Montparnasse replied, leering at her.

She shot him a furious glare and turned back to her father. "Well?"

"What's it t' you, hussy?" Thénardier spat at her.

"Hussy? That's a new insult, _father_," Éponine hissed back. "There's nothing of worth in the house!"

"_I'll_ be th' judge o' that!" he snarled at her. "Get on 'ome before you cause any more trouble!"

"I'll scream!" she threatened at his back. He stopped and turned, infuriated. "I'll warn them if you don't leave!" Montparnasse and Babet grabbed her arms, twisting them painfully.

"I'll make you suffer if you scream," Thénardier warned. "You regret it if you warn 'em!" The men twisted her arms further back. She struggled against them but could not move. Never taking her gaze off Thénardier, she let out a loud scream.

The lights in the windows of number 55 flickered on instantly.

Montparnasse and Babet dropped Éponine in a heap and fled. The rest of the Patron-Minette followed suit, Thénardier kicking her in the side as he ran. "You'll regret this, 'Ponine!" She stared at him defiantly as he ran.

Marius and Cosette suddenly ran from the back of the garden. Éponine dragged herself to her knees as Cosette knelt by her.

Recognition mixed with pity filled Cosette's eyes. Éponine stared back at her, daring her to say a word. Marius was saying something, but Éponine did not hear anything he said. He helped her to her feet and pulled her out of the garden, but pressed against the wall, listening. Éponine followed suit.

They heard the main door flung open, and footsteps running towards Cosette. "_Mon Dieu_, Cosette! I heard screams in the street. Are you all right? What happened?"

Then Cosette did something Éponine had never known her to do, not even when they were children: Cosette lied.

"That was my cry, Papa. There were men in the garden."

"How many?"

"Six or seven, I think," she replied. Éponine felt the blood drain from her face. _Cosette wouldn't reveal Marius, but would she reveal me?_ Thankfully, Cosette quieted. Cosette's father paused, as if thinking.

"Pack your bags, Cosette."

"Why?" Cosette's voice sounded desperate, as if on the verge of tears. No doubt she was thinking of Marius. "Where are we going?"

"London."

Marius'' face turned ashen.

"_London_! Papa—"

"Cosette! Go inside!" Éponine heard Cosette running back to the house and slamming the door behind her. Éponine looked at Marius, telling him with her eyes not to react until Cosette's father went inside. Cosette's father murmured something. The only word Éponine heard was "_Javert_".

Then footsteps echoed across the street, and the door shut.

Éponine released a breath she did not know she was holding. Marius shook her shoulder. She shrugged off his hand. "What?"

"Should I follow her to London?"

She turned to him, aghast. "_Follow_ her? Marius, you can't just abandon the revolution for Cosette!"

"But if I fight in the revolution, I'll lose Cosette!"

"You already committed yourself to the Cause, Marius! If you live through the revolution, _then_ go to London!"

"You sound just like Enjolras when you say that." Marius sighed. "All right. I'll stay and fight."

"Good." Éponine paused and stood. "Try to talk to her and tell her your plans so she isn't left in the dark." Marius stood to join her and walked to the iron gate.

Éponine heard the soft clack of Cosette's heeled slippers hurrying over the cobblestones. Cosette grasped Marius' hand through the bars with her delicate hand. She seemed to realize Marius had stayed. "Did you hear..."

"Yes," Marius admitted. "I have something to tell you, Cosette." She nodded.

"Tomorrow my friends are going to start rioting in the streets. The riots are going to turn into a full revolution. I am going to fight in the revolution."

Cosette started crying. She unlocked the gate with trembling hands and pulled Marius into the garden. "P— please don't fight, Marius," she said her tears.

"I have to, love. I already agreed to fight. But I promise that if I somehow survive the war, I'll go to London and find you."

Cosette looked down, sobbing. Marius gently lifted her chin to look her in the eyes. "Please don't cry, Cosette. I can't bear to see you in grief." He pulled her into an embrace as she sobbed into his shoulder. Finally, her sobs subsided. She raised her head, her eyes red yet still beautiful. Carefully, Marius closed the space between them with a tender kiss.

Éponine watched from behind the wall, wistful. She did not wish herself in Cosette's place, but wished for someone to love her as Marius loved Cosette.

Marius and Cosette broke apart slowly, staring at the moonlight reflected in each other's eyes. "I have to go, love," Marius whispered. Cosette nodded, tears threatening to fall from her eyes. Marius raised Cosette's hand to his lips. He reluctantly drew away, gazing in her eyes as he backed away. Éponine pulled him down the street as Cosette watched them from the garden.

* * *

><p>Éponine led Marius to the Rue Saint-Michel, unable think of any other way to distract him from Cosette. Just as they were about to enter the cafe, a police officer came down the <em>rue<em>. Éponine pulled Marius into a shadowed alley. The officer looked somewhat like Inspector Javert, the man who had nearly arrested her father, but she was not sure.

The man wore a sash of the French colors tied around his waist. He looked over his shoulders, and then quickly entered the cafe. Éponine silently beckoned Marius to follow her and went into the cafe.

The man was nowhere in the main room. Éponine barely saw him opening the door to the back room. She headed down the hallway after him, Marius on her heels.

She quietly pushed open the door. If she did not know the Society better, she would have said the room was in chaos.

Papers covered every available surface. The members of the Society were loudly arguing amongst themselves. Enjolras was attempting and failing to shout over the noise. Empty wine bottles and wine glasses were scattered around the room or clutched in a hand.

Enjolras caught sight of Éponine and Marius and smiled wearily. Éponine wove through the crowd of bodies and tables and reached Enjolras' table, while Marius made his way to the other members.

"You've started?" Éponine asked.

Enjolras nodded. "We officially start the riots tomorrow morning, but unofficially, yes."

"Are you nervous about tomorrow?"

"It wouldn't be normal if I wasn't." They both smiled.

Then the man that looked like Javert came to the table. "Are you M. Enjolras D'Aubigne?" Enjolras nodded, and the man continued. "I have come to offer my services in the revolution."

"They will be much appreciated, monsieur..."

"Names are not important in a revolution, monsieur. Besides, I would not wish you to be associated with me if I were to be caught."

"Very well, monsieur. What skill do you have in war?"

"I served many years with the _gardes nationaux_. I can pretend to join their ranks in order to obtain information."

Enjolras looked surprised but grateful. "That will be very useful, monsieur. Thank you."

"You are welcome, M. D'Aubigne." The man turned and left.

"I don't trust him, Enjolras," Éponine said in a low voice.

"He gives me no reason to distrust him." Éponine sighed but did not comment.

She stood. "I have to be getting home. I'll come to the cafe early tomorrow."

"_Au revoir_," Enjolras said. He smiled, and for a moment, Éponine forgot why she was standing.

Her brain functioned enough for her to reply. "_Au revoir_." She smiled in return and forced herself to leave, wondering what the new day would bring.

* * *

><p><strong>If anyone caught it, Marius fell off the wall into a bush. I prefer to think of the bush as very, very thorny; like a blackberry-type of bush. I don't even know why I thought of adding it in there. It seemed to fit.<strong>

**And I have to say, I can totally picture Norm Lewis in the last section.**


	6. Chapter 6

_Chapter Five_: Boulevard Montmatre

**Monday, June 5, 1832**

* * *

><p>While Paris slept, the Society of the Friends of the <em>Abaissé<em> gathered in the Boulevard Montmatre, waiting for the funeral procession. All of the revolutionaries were armed. A barricade was constructed behind them. The revolutionaries had constructed barricades all over Paris, but the main barriers were the Boulevard Montmatre and the Rue de la Chanvrerie.

Faintly, the sound of horses and carriages came from far down the street. The revolutionaries tensed and waited. Enjolras crossed himself. _Aidez-nous, Saint-Michel_, he prayed silently. _Help us, Saint Michael_. Gradually the funeral procession reached the revolutionaries. They left a clear distance between them, and the air was silent and tense.

A man stepped out of the procession and approached the revolutionaries. The medals decorating his uniform indicated his rank to be general.

"Who is your leader?" he said in a spiteful tone.

Enjolras stepped forward. "Well met, Gen. Mouton."

"Ah, D'Aubigne. We meet again." Mouton sneered. "The last time I saw you, you caused havoc by associating with the poor outside your family's château, instead of the rich within."

"And I will do so again, Mouton; just in a different manner."

"I see you haven't changed from your foolish schoolboy days, D'Aubigne. Do you truly think you can win this?"

Enjolras met his stare evenly. "Yes, because we have the support of the people."

"You really _believe_ that, boy? The people won't come to fight with you!"

Enjolras responded by firing his gun into the air. The action was obviously a signal, for the revolutionaries turned and climbed to the safe side of the barricade. Enjolras stayed, tense and waiting for the gunfire from the National Guard. The National Guard readied their guns in preparation to shoot Enjolras, but by that time, he had reached the safety of the rebel side. The bullets came from the National Guard.

Enjolras held out a hand to signal the revolutionaries. "Hold!" he ordered, waiting for the right moment as the National Guard surged closer and closer.

"Now!"

The bullets from the revolutionaries' guns brought down the entire front row of the National Guard. The National Guard frantically regrouped and reloaded their guns, but the revolutionaries were already firing.

Combeferre was the first of the revolutionaries to be hit. He had been hidden at the top of the barricade when he suddenly stumbled back, blood soaking his sleeve. Enjolras immediately abandoned firing and dragged Combeferre from the top of the barricade. He shouted above the noise of gunpowder and bullets. "_Joly_!"

Joly appeared in front of them. Enjolras slung Combeferre's good arm from his own shoulder to Joly. "Take him inside!" Joly nodded and dragged Combeferre away.

Bossuet was the next to fall. Enjolras pulled him into the building where Joly had taken Combeferre. Makeshift cots filled the main room. Enjolras laid down Bossuet as carefully as he could in his haste and went out to rejoin the fighting.

The battle lasted for several hours, and during those hours, Enjolras realized what battles meant. Battles were not evening stories of heroic deeds. Battles were, he realized, gunpowder hanging thickly in air, making it difficult to breathe; bullets cutting through the smoke to bury itself into a body; the cries of the revolutionaries, his friends, as they were hit; blood, dark and real, covering everything. Battles were not fun and games. No, they were horrible once Death stared you in the face, smiling evilly and holding out a beckoning hand that you tried the best you could to ignore, but could no evade forever.

* * *

><p>The bullets finally ceased coming over the barricade as evening fell gently over Paris. The National Guard had only injured Combeferre and Bossuet in this first of many battles, for which Enjolras was thankful. Enjolras gathered the revolutionaries together, and they headed for the barricade at the Rue de la Chanvrerie.<p>

As they walked through the dark streets, the poor gathered at street corners and in alleyways, silently watching the revolutionaries walk past. Then a man with light brown hair broke the tableau viviant-like atmosphere and came up to Enjolras. A woman with short blonde hair and determined deer-like eyes followed, a young child balancing on her hip.

"I would like to join your revolution, monsieur," the man said. His intelligent brown eyes missed nothing of the ordered chaos.

Enjolras nodded. "It is not my revolution, but the people's. You are welcome to join. Thank you for your willingness. May I inquire of your name, monsieur?" Enjolras found out the man was Amaud Dubois, a textile factory worker.

The woman that had joined Amaud— her name was Hélène, Enjolras learned— spoke hesitantly to Enjolras. "Monsieur, how much fighting do you actually think will occur?"

"I do not know. I pray it will be very little, but I cannot say for certain."

Hélène seemed embarrassed that Enjolras had responded to her. "Forgive me for being so forward, monsieur. I am concerned for my husband's safety, and it will be difficult for a woman to support herself and her family if her husband were to be—" She faltered.

"Do not be ashamed, Mme. Dubois. It is a natural thing to be concerned for a loved one's well-being." An image of Éponine came to his mind. _Where is she? _"And if anything does happen to your husband, I will see to it that you are supported." The pair thanked Enjolras and left.

Marius came up next to Enjolras. "Have you seen 'Ponine? I'm glad she was absent from the fighting, but she's been missing all day. It's not like her to not show up. And she would have loved to be a part of this."

"I was wondering the same thing. She said she would be at the café early this morning, and she never came."

Marius looked sideways at Enjolras. "I've never know you to be interested in the whereabouts of 'Ponine before."

"Since she— as well as her brother, mind— gave me valuable information about the funeral procession, she is an important ally to the Cause."

"She's _just_ an ally, Enjolras?" Grantaire asked as he joined them. "From what I've seen, she not just an _ally_. A second Patria, perhaps—"

"Grantaire, you would be wise to stop talking," Enjolras said curtly. This was not going to come up, not when _Marius_, of all people, was there. "Go and see if you can find the volunteer who joined yesterday." Grantaire nodded, smirking, and left.

"What was Grantaire talking about?" Marius said.

"It was nothing. Another one of his drunken ramblings." Marius looked skeptical, but turned and left Enjolras with his thoughts.

Enjolras could not deny that he had been thinking of Éponine more and more as time went on. She was so unlike any of the women his parents had thrown at him. Those women were flighty and avoided serious conversation like the plague. Éponine clearly had her own political opinions and was not shy about sharing them.

And Éponine was not unattractive, not in the least. Years of poverty had, it was true, roughened her— wouldn't it anyone?— but the beauty she had as a child was still unmistakably evident; if anything, she had grown more beautiful as she grew older. It was like refining gold in a fire: the metal was beautiful before it entered flames, but it was even more striking afterwards simply _because_ it had been subject to burning. Éponine was like that refined gold; because society had forced her to endure the harshest circumstances a Parisian could face, she had grown stronger and more beautiful through it.

And Enjolras found himself falling for the beautiful, refined being that was Éponine.

It was unreasonable, he knew. Éponine had verbally confessed her love for Marius, that day in the church. Even though the baron was completely oblivious, Enjolras could see she still hoped Marius would see her as more than just a friend.

Enjolras hoped that one day she would see him as more than a friend. He knew, in all reality, it was impossible. But he still hoped.

* * *

><p><strong>By the way, I found a calender online that stretches back to the 1800s, and June 5, 1832 is a Monday, if the calender is accurate.<strong>


	7. Chapter 7

_Chapter Six_: The River Seine

**Tuesday, June 6, 1832**

* * *

><p>Early the next morning, Éponine stopped in an alley leading to the Rue de la Chanvrerie, watching. The revolutionaries rested beneath the shadow of the barricade, saving their strength for the battles. She adjusted the <em>beret<em> to make sure it completely covered her hair and crept as quietly as she could towards the barricade. She had just reached the foot of the blockade when someone stirred beside her. Marius stood up, an irritated expression on his face.

"What are you doing here, _boy_?" he asked angrily. "A revolution is no place for a girl, 'Ponine!"

"Under whose authority?" she hissed back. "Society? Men? I have just as much right to be here as you do, Marius!"

"You're going to get shot and killed, 'Ponine!"

"You're in just as much danger as I am! Why should you stay? Oh, that's right— because you're a _man_, and I'm a weak, spineless _woman_ who supposedly can't take care of myself. Is that it?"

"'Ponine!" Marius sighed irately and pulled a letter out of his waistcoat pocket. "Will you deliver this for me?"

"Who's it for?" Éponine asked warily.

"Cosette. Please, 'Ponine."

"I—" She sighed and snatched the letter out of his hand. "Fine," she snapped. "But I'm coming back."

She turned and strode towards the alley, still fuming. Marius was dismissing her _again_. Why couldn't he see— why couldn't they _all_ see— that she had just as much right as they did to fight? They were fighting for people like _her_, after all, and—

"Éponine."

She turned to see Enjolras and flushed faintly despite herself, all thoughts of Marius flying out of her head. "Yes, Enjolras?"

"I know you don't like hearing it, Éponine, but it's for the best that you deliver the letter instead of staying here."

"Enjolras—"

"You are completely proficient enough to defend yourself; there is no doubt about that. But I do not want to see you hurt, Éponine— or, God forbid, killed."

His eyes held a sincerity that Éponine rarely saw. He seemed genuinely concerned for her well fare. She found herself wishing he were concerned for more than just her well-being. "I—"

"Please, Éponine." He reached out and took her hand. She blushed so deeply she was sure he could see, even in the pale morning light. "I could not bear to see you killed."

"Make sure you stay alive, Enjolras," she replied, looking in his eyes. He released her hand and— unconsciously, it seemed— gently, softly, touched her cheek. She felt herself smiling shyly, savoring the sensation of his fingers brushing her skin. His dark eyes held an expression she could not quite read.

Then, at the same moment, they realized what they were doing and both took a step back. She blushed even deeper, if such a thing were possible, and turned to leave.

Then she turned to face him once more. "Be careful, Enjolras." He nodded and tried to say something, but seemed to falter. She smiled softly again, butterflies exploding in her stomach, and forced herself to leave.

* * *

><p>Éponine wandered to Rue Plumet in a daze. <em>What just happened?<em>

The street was still quiet as she approached number 55. Cosette's father was the only other person in the street. He stacked luggage as Éponine moved towards him.

"Monsieur, I have a letter for your daughter Cosette, from a student at the Rue de Villette." The man straightened and extended his hand. Éponine shook her head. "The student told me only Cosette must receive the letter, monsieur."

"I promise you my daughter will read this letter." When Éponine handed him the letter, Cosette's father reached inside his pocket and gave her a _sou_. As she turned to go, the man caught her arm. "Be careful," he said, and Éponine somehow knew he could see straight through her disguise. She nodded, uneasy, and left.

* * *

><p>Éponine went to the <em>Pont au Change<em> after she delivered the letter. She went to the steps leading down to the embankment and sat on the top step, hidden from sight.

Something had happened at the Rue de la Chanvrerie, something that Éponine had never felt with Marius. It made her feel weak and lightheaded.

_You're not yourself, 'Ponine_, she chastened herself. The Éponine everyone saw would never go weak-kneed after a man. Éponine drew her knees under her chin and wrapped her arms around her legs.

Beneath the strong, unwavering façade she presented to the world, Éponine wished for something that every girl wished for— to marry for love. Of course she wished for that to come true— she supposed she wouldn't be normal if she didn't— but she had accepted long ago that it would never happen. Her mother hadn't married for love, and Éponine expected to be no different. However, meeting Marius had changed that. She used to— carefully, cautiously, hesitantly— let herself dream of a life where she was cared for. She wasn't foolish enough to expect it to come true, but she let herself dream.

Now, with what happened at the barricade…

It had been difficult, but Éponine had managed to do it— she convinced herself that she did not love Marius anymore. He was a good friend, true, but she did not love him. She could see now that her "love" for Marius had, in the recent weeks, become almost like a habit; she dreamed about him without a thought of doing anything different. She had heard firsthand Marius confessing his love for Cosette, and nothing would change that.

Enjolras— Éponine felt herself blushing again— Enjolras made her feel different. He listened to her when she spoke her opinions about the National Guard, which was more than Marius had ever done. He went out of his way to speak with her, which was what no other nobleman would have done.

Éponine cautiously let her mind replay certain events that came to her thoughts. The day in the commons area, which she had literally run into him. The time in the café, when they had looked at the map together. The night before the revolution started, when his smile made her forget everything. And now, at the barricade.

_Am I foolish?_ she asked herself. _Will it turn out like the situation with Marius?_

Éponine knew the only way to find out was to go back to the barricade.


	8. Chapter 8

_Chapter Seven_: The Corinthe

**Tuesday, June 6, 1832**

* * *

><p>It began to rain as Éponine made her way back to the Rue de la Chanvrerie. It started out as a light shower, but gradually grew so that cold raindrops drummed on her back. By the time she reached the barricade, her hair was dripping. She felt cold, wet and miserable.<p>

The revolutionaries had taken the narrow Rue Mondétour as their refuge, while the National Guard occupied the length of the Rue de la Chanvrerie. Éponine could see the revolutionaries had blocked off the Rue Mondétour on all sides.

The only possible way to the barricade was through the Rue de la Chanvrerie, which was swarming with soldiers. Éponine gritted her teeth and started.

She was surprised to find it was relatively easy to slip unnoticed down the street. As long as she kept to the shadows and trained her gaze on the ground in supposed submission, the soldiers did not bother her. The tricky part started when she reached the foot of the barricade. She carefully put one foot on a wagon wheel and looked back. The soldiers seemed occupied and did not see her. She carefully, quietly, began to ascend the barricade. It was comparatively simple, but Éponine did not let her guard down for an instant. She knew what the soldiers would do if she hesitated.

She reached the top of the barricade, leaning over a post, when someone loudly called her name. The revolutionaries stood in the Rue Mondétour, watching her. Grantaire— the brainless, rambling _idiot_— continued. "What are you doing?"

She shook her head vehemently, trying to convey the importance of silence, but it was too late.

Éponine heard the click of a musket. She tried to take a step, but the musket fired. A bullet— so small yet so unbearable painful— buried itself into her shoulder. Éponine bit back any noises of pain and, using her last remaining strength, pulled herself over the peak of the barricade.

Once she was in the sanctuary of the rebel side, she lost her grip and stumbled. She fell painfully and landed in the bed of a cart. She lay on her side, her good shoulder bearing her weight, gasping in pain.

Suddenly, there was movement beneath the cart. In a flash, Enjolras was beside her and raising her carefully out of the cart. Éponine could not find the strength to protest. Somehow— the pain filled her mind too much for her to remember exactly— they reached the ground of the Rue Mondétour. Enjolras sat her carefully on a low wooden bench.

"Why did you come back?" he asked, stroking her hair. Éponine could not answer, but coughed and gasped in pain.

Enjolras stood and looked at the crowd of revolutionaries. "Where's Joly?"

Joly stepped out of the mass, a bag in hand. He knelt by Éponine and examined her shoulder. "I'm going to take the bullet out immediately, before infection sets in."

"How bad is it?"

"It managed to miss a vital vein by a centimeter. Nevertheless, she is losing blood. I need to stanch the wound to clot the blood. I'm going to pull out the bullet." Enjolras nodded and took Éponine's hand. Joly took a small metal forceps out of his bag and carefully pulled Éponine's coat and the sleeve of her chemise away from her shoulder. "This is going to hurt," he warned. Éponine pressed her lips tightly together and nodded. Joly raised the forceps and clamped in on the edge of the bullet. Éponine gripped Enjolras' hand so hard the skin on her hand turned colorless.

In a smooth movement, Joly drew out the bullet, Éponine letting out a strangled sound as he did so. Joly dug inside his bag and pulled out bandages and a bottle of ointment. He proceeded to pour the ointment over her shoulder and wrapped the bandages firmly around her shoulder. "It will take some time to heal, but she'll be fine in a couple of days."

"Thank you, Joly," Éponine whispered as loud as she could.

"_De rien_, Éponine." Joly repacked his bag and left. The rest of the revolutionaries trickled away until she was alone with Enjolras.

"Why did you come back?" Enjolras asked again.

"To find an answer to something."

"An answer?" He sat next to her on the bench.

She nodded. "About my feelings." Her voice faded, and she spoke in a whisper. "For— for you."

Éponine moved so she was looking him in the eyes. "Do you remember that day in the church, when I admitted my feelings for Marius?" Enjolras nodded, the light in his eyes, dimming slightly, and she smiled slightly. "It's not what you think, Enjolras.

"I have recently come to terms with— everything, and I realized I do not love Marius. I was in love with the _idea_ of him, not him as a person.

"So…" She took a shaky breath. "I— I guess what I'm trying to say is— I think I'm falling in love with you."

Silence hung over the _rue_ for a few moments. They looked carefully away from each other, thinking over the words that hung in the air.

"The revolution has made me realize many things," Enjolras finally said quietly. "It is difficult not to, when Death stares you in the face. It made me realize where my priorities lie."

"What are your priorities?" She looked down, hoping against hope.

He took her hand and made gently patterns on her skin with his thumb. He looked her in the eye. "You."

She smiled, embarrassed. "Truly? You're not just saying that to—"

"Éponine, you know me. Would I kiss a girl I didn't love?"

"Would you—"

Enjolras leaned forward and kissed her, cutting her off mid-sentence.

A loud blast of gunpowder and bullets came from the National Guard. Éponine and Enjolras both dropped behind the bench and used whatever protection it could give.

"Go inside the Corinthe, Éponine," Enjolras said as the revolutionaries ran to their positions on the barricade. Éponine nodded. She leaned forward and kissed him quickly, then went to the café at a run. Enjolras stayed long enough to see the door shut behind her before he joined the fighting.

Éponine shut the door with shaking hands and went to the empty bar. She pushed the half-door aside and positioned herself so the bar hid her. The thick wood, she concluded, would be the best protection if the windows were to shatter unexpectedly.

As the sounds of the battle raged outside the café, Éponine clenched her hands together to keep them from shaking. _Enjolras…_ If the saints took his life in the battle, Éponine could not find the will to live.

Surely the saints would not be so cruel.


	9. Chapter 9

_Chapter Eight_: Eleven Years

**Tuesday, June 6, 1832**

* * *

><p>They were in a lull in the fighting when Enjolras noticed the low cartridge supply. "Do we have any extra ammunition left?" he asked Feuilly.<p>

"This is all we have."

Enjolras nodded. "I'll go and collect more."

"I'll go!" Marius stepped forward. "I've nothing left to live for."

"I won't let you go, Marius."

"Let me go, monsieur," an older man said. Enjolras remembered him to be the volunteer who had come in the National Guard uniform. "My life's almost over, anyway."

"I'll go, monsieur! I'm much nimbler than any of you!" With those words, Gavroche ran and scrambled up the barricade.

"Gavroche, don't you dare!" Enjolras said. "Come back!"

"Someone pull him back!" Lesgle said, but Gavroche had already disappeared over to the Rue de la Chanvrerie. The revolutionaries could him singing the song he had learned from the other _gamins_.

_Peu de personnes savent,_

_Lorsque la lutte peu de personnes_

_Nous pouvons regarder une proie facile_

_Mais nous avons quelques mordre!_

A gunshot rang out, and Gavroche hesitated.

_Donc, ne jamais lancer un chien_

_Parce qu'il est juste un chiot_

They heard another gunshot, and Gavroche cried out. Grantaire called out his name in a hopeless attempt to bring him back to the revolutionaries.

_Nous nous battrons comme vingt armées_

_Et nous n'abandonnerons pas_

They could hear Gavroche coughing. His small bag, now completely full, sailed over the peak of the barricade. Everyone stood, frozen in horror, the bag forgotten.

_Alors vous feriez mieux de courir pour la couventure_

_Lorsque le chiot grandit—_

A third gun fired, and Gavroche was cut off mid-note. His body slumped to the ground, still.

A soldier stepped out of the National Guard's formation. "The people will not come to your side!" he said in a loud voice. "Why throw your lives away for a hopeless cause?"

"We will make them pay for killing Gavroche," Enjolras spat.

A hand was on his shoulder. "Monsieur?" Enjolras turned to see Hélène Dubois, a musket in her hand.

"Madame, why are you here?" Enjolras asked carefully.

She gestured behind her. "I've brought reinforcements, monsieur." Behind her stood a crowd of factory workers, servants, beggars. They were all armed in some way or another.

The poor had come to their revolution.

Enjolras sighed in relief. "Thank you, madame. Thank you very much." He turned and addressed the crowd. "The _gardes nationaux_ have killed one of your own— Gavroche Thénardier, an eleven-year-old _gamin_. Help me make them pay."

The crowd shouted angrily in agreement and began to swarm towards, then over, the barricade.

This battle was the fiercest the revolutionaries had experienced. The poor attacked with such intensity the National Guard began to back off. It was gradual, and it was not much, but it was a start.

* * *

><p>The National Guard retreated briefly, and the revolutionaries and the poor gathered in the Rue Mondétour. Bottles of wine were passed from hand to hand. Jean Prouvaire began softly singing an old song from their childhood and after a few lines, the revolutionaries joined in.<p>

_Buvez avec moi autrefois_

_Chante avec moi les chansons que nous savions_

_Voici pour les jolies filles qui sont allés à nos têtes._

_Voici pour les milles spirituelles qui sont allés à nos lits._

_Voici à eux et voici pour vous._

_Buves avec moi autrefois_

_Peut-on vous peur de mourir_

_Est-ce que le monde vous vous souvenez_

_Lorsque vois tombez?_

_Porrait-il être votre mort_

_Ne signifie rien du tout?_

_Votre vie est un peu plus un mensonge?_

The poor joined the revolutionaries.

_Buvez avec moi autrefois_

_Pour la vie que d'être utilisés_

_Au sanctuaire de l'amitié, il ne faut jamais désespérer_

_Laissez le vin al'amitié jamias fonctioneer à sec_

_Voici pour vois et voici pour moi._

Marius sat apart from the rest, lost in thought. Enjolras made his way through the crowd and sat next to Marius.

"Are you prepared to die?" he asked the baron.

Marius nodded. "I've lost everything I could live for: my parents, my grandfather, and now Cosette. I'm willing to hand myself over to the _gardes nationaux_."

"You can still find Cosette after the revolution, Marius."

"What if I die?"

"Don't give up yet. There's still hope." Enjolras got up and left Marius with his thoughts.

Éponine rested near the Corinthe, her expression blank. Enjolras leaned his gun on the wall and sat on the ground next to her. They sat in silence for a few minutes. Then Éponine spoke, her tone hollow.

"I keep on replaying scenes in my mind," she said impassively. "When Gavroche was just a baby, in Montfermeil. The little grin he wore when he knew he had outsmarted you. The day he came after learning how to be a shoe-polisher; he was so proud of it. The day he ran away from home. The elephant-statue he lived in. The little bits of information he used to find."

Enjolras leaned his head against the wall. "He was too young to die."

"Aren't we all?" Éponine asked. "We're meant to live a full, long life, but it is cut short, just because the saints ordain it." Enjolras looked at her. She looked empty and distant.

Then, for an instant, a tear trickled down her cheek. She wiped it away quickly, and her stone-like, resolute façade returned.

Enjolras never saw her cry again.


	10. Chapter 10

_Chapter Nine_: Terms of Surrender

**Tuesday, June 6, 1832**

* * *

><p>It was in the midst of the fourth battle that Enjolras noticed that something was different. The National Guard seemed almost hesitant; they were not attacking with their usual vehemence. The aura was tense and halting.<p>

Without warning, the National Guard fell back with an order from General Mouton. The revolutionaries looked at one another with confusion but did not let down their guard.

Time seemed to pause. The revolutionaries and the poor seemed to freeze in place, waiting for an attack from the National Guard.

The attack that never came.

Enjolras saw, through the thick haze of gunpowder, a white flag, waved back and forth.

_It couldn't be…_

A soldier stepped out of the formation and neared the barricade. He had left his gun and was holding a letter. "Peace!" he shouted. "I have a letter for Enjolras D'Aubigne,Marquis Aix-en-Provence, from General Georges Mouton, comte de Lobau."

Enjolras looked at the revolutionaries and prepared to descend the barricade, but before he could, a small figure darted down and took the letter.

When the figure climbed the barricade and handed the letter to Enjolras, Enjolras recognized him to be Navet, a friend of Gavroche's. Navet spoke. "'ere you are, then, m'sieur."

"Thank you, Navet," Enjolras replied. The _gamin_ nodded and ran off as Enjolras opened the letter.

_General Georges Mouton, comte de Lobau, believes it necessary to inform Monsieur Enjolras D'Aubigne, Marquis Aix-en-Provence, that on this day of June the Sixth of the Year of Our Lord Eighteen and Thirty-Two, the National Guard of Paris are conceding to said leader of the Republican scholars of the Paris-Sorbonne University, Paris IV of the University of Paris._

It did not seem real.

How could the National Guard suddenly surrender? Mouton was not one to give up when he wanted something; he never had, from what Enjolras had known of him when they met at the D'Aubigne château in Aix-en-Provence. It felt like a ploy.

Enjolras slowly descended the barricade, the letter clenched in his hand. He held it aloft as he spoke. "They surrendered."

Shock covered the faces of the revolutionaries and the poor. "Are you sure?" Courfeyrac asked.

"I'm going to find out." Enjolras turned and went to the Rue de la Chanvrerie before anyone could react.

When he reached the foot of the barricade, he spoke to the soldier who had delivered the letter. "May I please speak with General Mouton?" The soldier nodded and led him towards the National Guard.

Mouton waited in the front of the formation as Enjolras and the soldier neared him. "Do what you like, D'Aubigne," the general snarled. "I bet it'll bring you pleasure to see me at the guillotine."

"As much as you would like to see me beheaded, Mouton, I will not return the favor."

"Is the guillotine too much for you, boy? What will it be? Does the _bagne_ suit you?"

"Neither. I will grant you your life."

Confusion covered Mouton's expression. "Are you _daft_, boy? Don't you know the ways of war?"

Enjolras smiled slightly. "Believe me, I do. I choose to follow a different path than that of my ancestors. I do not want your blood on my hands; I have taken enough lives as it is. You are free. But if I hear of your involvement with the _gardes nationaux_ or the _Armée de Terre_ again, you will be exiled from France for the rest of your life. Is that understood?" Mouton glared at Enjolras, but begrudgingly nodded. Enjolras gripped his gun and went back to the Rue Mondétour.

When he reached the top of the barricade, the revolutionaries and the poor exploded into cheers. Enjolras searched the crowd and caught sight of Éponine. She smiled in gratitude and relief.

The crowd surrounded Enjolras as he reached the ground, but he held up a hand to stop them. "Our work is far from over. Amaud and Hélène, I need you to take the poor and spread the word of the victory. Navet, I need you to take the letters I will write to the families of the students who died." The three spoken to nodded and left.

He turned to the revolutionaries. "Before we celebrate, we need to bear in mind the three that have fallen." His voice cracked slightly. "Ignace Combeferre, Lesgle de Meaux, and Gavroche Thénardier." The revolutionaries cleared a path until Combeferre and Bossuet were visible; Gavroche's body was still on the Rue de la Chanvrerie.

Despite the blood, the two students looked asleep, as if they would stand at any moment and engage the Friends of the _Abaissé_ in conversation. Enjolras knelt and untied the tri-colored sashes from the bodies. The fabric would be given to the families.

He stood, gazing at the bodies. It was impossible to believe that the two would not be in the university, talking back to the professors and skipping class for a meeting in the Café Musian. Enjolras turned and left, fearing that if he stared at the bodies any longer, he would snap, find the _gardes nationaux_ and personally kill every single soldier. As he made his way through the crowd of the revolutionaries, he caught sight of Éponine quietly climbing the barricade. He followed her.

By the time Enjolras made his way to the Rue de la Chanvrerie, Éponine was already kneeling by her brother's body, stroking his dark hair. She gently, slowly, closed Gavroche's eyes.

He softly said her name. Éponine turned and looked at Enjolras, seeing the grief and commiseration. He knelt by her. They stayed together for what seemed like hours, gazing at the empty shell that was Gavroche's body.


	11. Chapter 11

_Chapter Ten_: The Deal

* * *

><p>The Friends walked to the Café Musian in silence, the memory of their friends' bodies still in their minds. By the time they reached Rue Saint-Michel, the somber mood lifted, and the realization sunk in. <em>They had won<em>.

Amaud and Hélène had been good to their word. As the Friends walked through Paris, the poor repeatedly stopped them and thanked them profusely. The people treated them like heroes, saviors. Enjolras could see the praise was beginning to go to his friends' head, but he did not say anything. The Friends noisily entered the café and made their way to the back room. It took only minutes for the room to resemble a bachelor's flat— which, in a sense, it was. Everyone except Enjolras was getting heavily drunk. Marius did not drink enough to become intoxicated, but he drank enough to drown his worries about Cosette.

Éponine entered the room, half-hidden in the dim light. She met Enjolras' gaze and made her way to his table. "Thank you for leading the revolution, Enjolras." she said as she sat across from him. "You've changed many people's lives for the better."

"So did you, Éponine."

She shook her head. "I didn't do anything."

"Yes, you did. You showed Marius— you showed everyone— that you can hold your own."

Éponine stood. "I should be getting back. I still have to tell my family about— about Gavroche." Enjolras nodded but caught her hand before she left. Éponine reddened slightly. His eyes told her he had not forgotten about their conversation at the barricade or the kiss. Her breath caught. She smiled, feeling, for the first time in a long time, happy.

* * *

><p>Éponine hesitated as she walked down the Rue des Vignes-Saint Marcel. She had not returned to the Gorbeau House since the fourth, and she did not have any money on her— there was not telling what her father would do. She took a deep breath and pushed open the door marked <em>50<em>.

Thénardier sat at the rickety table in the middle of the room, counting coins. When he saw her, his eyes darkened.

"Where've you been, 'Ponine?"

Éponine almost lied, but decided against it. "At the barricade, Papa."

"At th' barricade! Instead o' getting' money t' feed your starvin' family?"

"To fill your stomach with drink, more likely," she shot back. "I have to tell you something, Papa. Gavroche, he— he died today."

"Why should that matter t' me?" he said, indifferent. "And I 'ave some news for you as well, me girl."

"What is it?"

"You're getting' married in two weeks."

"_Married_! Papa, why on earth do I have to get married?" Then she paled. "Who am I getting married to?"

"Gérald Montparnasse."

"I will not marry that horrible _rat_!" she spat.

"Do you 'ave a better idea with that brain o' yours?" Thénardier's eyes were stormy.

"I— I do." Éponine's mind was working furiously.

"Well, spit it out!"

"If— if I find someone else to marry."

Éponine could almost see her father's mind working, trying to find a loophole. She held her breath.

"Fine." Thénardier looked disgruntled. "Three weeks."

"_Three weeks_!"

"That, o' you marry 'Parnasse."

"I— it's a deal." She turned and fled.

* * *

><p>Éponine pushed through the customers of the Café Musian to the back room. She opened the door and went down the wooden steps into the room. Enjolras was the only person in the room. He was engrossed in a law book.<p>

"Enjolras?"

Enjolras looked up and put the book down. He took one look at her face and stood, concern in his eyes. "What is it, Éponine?"

"I need information that may only be found in one of the university's law books."

"What specific information do you need?" Enjolras picked up the book, seeming ready to search.

"How… how to stop a marriage."

Enjolras stiffened. "_What_?"

Éponine sat down. "I need to find a way to stop a wedding. How does a woman, a poor woman, present evidence that can stop a marriage to a man that she hates and that her father wants her to marry and her father doesn't listen to her and—"

"Éponine." Enjolras sat by her at the table. "I have a suspicion, but I want to make sure I am correct. Who is this woman you are referring to?"

Éponine looked down, unable to look at the love and worry in his eyes. "Myself." She got up. "Don't pity me, Enjolras. I'm sure there wouldn't be any information anyway."

"I'm sure there's something." Enjolras grabbed her hand and pulled her back into the chair. "I will make it my personal goal to find the information." He flipped to the index at the back of the textbook and scanned it.

Several hours passed. Both looked through every law book in the room, but there was no helpful information. Enjolras tossed the last one on the table. "I can't find anything. We will get you out of this, I promise."

The door suddenly opened. The Friends poured through the doorway, completely oblivious to Éponine and Enjolras. They were even more drunk than before.

Grantaire made his way over to the table where Éponine and Enjolras sat. He seemed to be holding the alcohol better than the other were. His speech was only slightly slurred. "Why are all these law books here? Class has been out for a month, Enjolras."

"I was helping Éponine," Enjolras replied tersely.

"Helping?" Grantaire's eyes darted between them. "With what, I might ask?" His words were loud enough to attract the attention— and the stares— of the entire room.

Éponine did not consider lying. _These are my friends_. "My father has arranged a marriage for me— with which, needless to say, I was not going to willingly comply with."

"Is there any way to get out of it?" Grantaire asked.

Éponine nodded, deliberately not looking at Enjolras. "If I marry someone else."

Grantaire smirked, as if landing on a thought. "Can you marry anyone at all?"

"I suppose so," Éponine replied carefully. Grantaire's smirk grew to a smug grin.

"How about Enjolras?"

Éponine and Enjolras both stiffened. Éponine felt blood rushing to her face, and Enjolras looked ready to kill Grantaire.

Jean Prouvaire called out. "Grantaire, the wine is ruling your tongue. Again. Stop before you say something worse."

Grantaire seemed genuinely confused— Éponine suspected the alcohol was finally catching up with him. "What? Isn't it a good idea? They obviously aren't against the idea, and—"

"_Grantaire_." Enjolras' tone was as Éponine had never heard before. It clearly showed that one did not push Enjolras beyond this point, or one would be very, very sorry they did. Everyone— including Grantaire, thankfully— quieted. Enjolras stood abruptly. "I am walking Éponine home. You will be wise to never approach this subject again." Éponine stood to join Enjolras and went after him out of the silent room. They swiftly left the café for the Rue Saint-Michel.

They walked through the dark, winding streets in silence. The conversation in the café hung between them, preventing even polite small talk. As they were passing over the bridge spanning the River Seine, Éponine stopped.

"Enjolras, we both know what we are avoiding. Let's just talk to get it over with."

Enjolras heaved a sigh. "Fair enough. I will not deny that at least in my place, I am not completely opposed to the idea. I am opposed to the amount of time your father has given you to find an optional husband."

"You know I didn't have a choice, Enjolras."

"Be as that may be, it complicates things. We have not known each other for very long, even as acquaintances. Three weeks is too little time to decide on marriage."

"I agree, but I am not against the idea of marriage. I could not live my life shackled to Montparnasse." They walked the rest of the way to the Rue des Vignes-Saint Marcel in silence.

Just as they turned the corner from the Rue du Petit-Banquier to the Rue des Vignes-Saint Marcel, Enjolras stopped Éponine. "We need to decide before you go."

Éponine closed her eyes briefly, as if drawing strength. "I say that we become engaged. That we try marriage. If it doesn't work, then that will be that, and Montparnasse will take me, but no one will say I didn't try."

"If our marriage does not work out, I will find someone else for you to marry. I will not let you be tied to Montparnasse."

"Thank you, Enjolras."

"So I take it you are agreeing to an engagement?" Éponine nodded. Enjolras smiled. "Will you be coming to the café tomorrow?"

"Of course. Goodnight, Enjolras. Until tomorrow."

"Goodnight, Éponine." Enjolras hugged her briefly, and for those few seconds, Éponine felt safe. Then he released her and left. In a daze, Eponine turned and went to the Gorbeau House.

When she quietly stepped into the room, Thénardier was waiting by the empty hearth. Éponine ignored him and walked to the doorway of the small bedroom she shared with Azelma.

"Well?"

Éponine turned to face her father. "What?"

"D'you find someone else t' marry? 'Parnasse is waitin' for an answer."

"I did."

"That was fast, me girl. 'oo is 'e?"

"I don't believe I am required to give an answer." She turned and entered the bedroom.

Azelma was already asleep, her henna-colored hair spread over her pillow. Éponine undressed and slipped into an old, once-white nightgown. She pulled the blanket, careful not to wake her sister, and lay down.

Éponine found she could not sleep. Her mind was too busy turning over the many events that had occurred that day. Her thoughts, as she expected, rested on the subject of her engagement.

She was extremely grateful to Enjolras for agreeing to the engagement. If nothing else, he would be kind to her, which would be more than Montparnasse would ever consider. Moreover, they loved each other, which would help enormously.

The only thing wrong was the time.

Three weeks was not enough time to pledge oneself to another for the rest of one's life; they had both known that instantly. Éponine loved Enjolras, but she wished desperately that the circumstances were different. But nothing could be changed, not when she had managed to free herself from her father's grasp.


	12. Chapter 12

_Chapter Eleven_: The Père-Lachaise Cemetery

* * *

><p>The next morning found Éponine pacing the walkway outside the Café Musian, her long coat wrapped around her frame. She waited as the proprietor of the café came down the <em>rue<em>.

"Good morning, mademoiselle," M. Hucheloup said as he unlocked the door. "A fine day, isn't it?"

"Yes, monsieur," Éponine replied. "And how is business at the Corinthe faring?"

"Quite well, thank you." Hucheloup answered as he opened the door for Éponine. She thanked him and went down the hall to the back room. Shutting the door behind her, Éponine searched the room until she found a quill and a bottle of ink. She located a sheet of parchment and, sitting at a table, began to write.

The door opened, and Marius and Enjolras came down the steps. Éponine looked up from her writing. "_Bonjour_."

"_Bonjour_, 'Ponine," Marius replied as he and Enjolras sat at her table. "What are you writing that is of such importance?"

"A list of things we need to accomplish before the three weeks end," she responded. She glanced for a split second at Enjolras and looked away, handing them the parchment. "The first thing is the funerals. When are they planned to happen?"

"This afternoon, in fact," Enjolras answered. "At the Père-Lachaise cemetery." Éponine nodded. A shadow crossed her face, and she seemed lost in thought.

"Éponine?" Enjolras said quietly. He gently put a hand on her shoulder.

She started faintly, seeming to realize he and Marius were still there. "Yes, well—" She cleared her throat. "The next task is your family, Enjolras. As long as _my_ father does not know your identity, he will not bother us; but I do not know how your family will respond. I imagine they will not be pleased to find their son is engaged to a girl from the slums."

Enjolras groaned. "I completely forgot about my parents. To say they will not be pleased is an understatement, at least with my father. The only way I can convince him is if we go to Reims."

Éponine did not look pleased. "If we go, your parents will _see_ that I'm from the slums. What about letters?"

Enjolras shook his head. "My father is hard enough to convince when one speaks with him, but writing back and forth is impossible. I'm sorry to cause you discomfort, Éponine, but the only way we can make this work is if we go to Reims."

Éponine looked noncompliant, but continued. "Well, we'll figure it out somehow when we get there. Then the last thing is France. Paris, at least, is in chaos, and we need to somehow dethrone the king and replace him with someone more capable."

"We can postpone that decision until later," Marius put forward. Éponine and Enjolras nodded in agreement.

Éponine stood. "I need to be getting back. I— I'll meet you at the cemetery later." She smiled shakily at them both and left.

* * *

><p>It was raining lightly as the Friends gathered in the graveyard. The three coffins— two normally sized, one incongruously small— rested on the wet ground, waiting to be lowered into the soil. A priest stood near the caskets as gravediggers dug quickly in the earth.<p>

As the priest spoke of Combeferre, Bossuet and Gavroche, Enjolras found himself reflecting on everything, and feeling livid. Of course he felt terrible grief over the deaths of his friends, but it was Gavroche, seeming so diminutive in the coffin, that made him angry. Gavroche was _eleven_ _years old_, for goodness' sake. He was a child. Why would the saints, why would God, cut the life of a mere _child_?

The thoughts filled his head so completely he did not notice Éponine come into the cemetery until she stepped quietly beside him. Her faded, patched mourning clothing were threadbare in places, and she seemed to shiver— either from the rain or from grief, Enjolras did not know. As the gravediggers laid the coffins in the ground and, one by one, the attendees threw a handful of earth onto the surface of the caskets.

Éponine stooped and slowly gathered a bit of soil in her hand, uncaring about the now filthy state of her black gloves. The earth soared through the air, landing dully on the wood of the small coffin. Éponine gradually stood and turned, looking away from her brother's coffin. After a moment's pause, Enjolras followed her.

She stood apart from the rest, gazing blankly at a tombstone. They stood in silence, the rain pattering on the pathways.

Amaud and Hélène joined Éponine and Enjolras by the tombstone. "I offer you my condolences, Éponine," Hélène said softly.

"I feel the need to apologize, Mlle. Thénardier," Amaud said. "I should have gone to collect the bullets myself and spared your brother."

"Please don't torture yourself with unnecessary guilt, M. Dubois," Éponine replied. "You have a family to support. Gavroche knew what he was getting into; he willingly sacrificed himself for the cause. He will be happier, I think, in a place that is far away from the hardships of the streets."

Amaud nodded and changed the subject. "I have a proposition, M. D'Aubigne," he said, addressing Enjolras, "about the situation concerning the future of France."

Enjolras looked hopeful for the first time in days. "Go on."

"I have a friend, Mathieu, who is a guard for King Louis-Philippe. Mathieu knows of and supports the revolution. If we obtain an audience with the king, Mathieu will instigate munity."

As Amaud and Enjolras spoke over the finer points of the plan, Hélène took Éponine aside. "Word has spread of your engagement, Éponine."

"How do people know of my engagement?"

"M. D'Aubigne _is_ the leader of the revolution, after all, and you are well-known on the streets for your friendship with Baron Pontmercy and your involvement in the revolution. However, the word in the streets was never clear on how you and M. D'Aubigne became engaged."

Éponine started to explain, and soon she told the situation in its entirety to Hélène. "And Enjolras' parents will be impossible to convince," she finished. "I don't know what we are going to do."

Hélène looked thoughtful. "Perhaps you can pass yourself off as a factory girl. If you agree to it, I could take you to the factory at which I work and show you how to work there, so it would not be a _complete_ lie."

The last part of the plan had finally fallen into place. "Thank you, Hélène. I will take you up on the offer."

"What about coming tomorrow? That way you can leave to Reims even sooner."

Éponine nodded. "Tomorrow, then. Thank you again."

"_De rien_, Éponine." Hélène smiled and went back to Amaud.

Éponine found Enjolras and told him of Hélène's plan. "If everything works out, we could leave in two days." Enjolras nodded in agreement.

They stood in silence for a few moments, each thinking. Then Éponine turned and walked to Gavroche's grave. He followed her, and they stayed in the cemetery until everyone else had left.


	13. Chapter 13

_Chapter Twelve:_ Textiles

* * *

><p>Éponine walked beside Hélène early the next morning as they went to the textile factory. Factory workers filled the quiet streets.<p>

The street in front of the factory was crowded with employees waiting for the doors to open. As the two women reached the mass, a tall man pushed his way to the doors, unlocked them and flung them open, headless of the people surrounding him. Was he the foreman? Éponine looked at Hélène, being to feel unsure about her decision, and went inside.

Long table filled the factory's large main room. Hélène led Éponine to a small side room, in which was a stack of uniforms. Éponine quickly changed out of her chemise and skirt into a simple blue dress with long sleeves.

"A few words of preparation," Hélène said as she handed Éponine a cap and apron. "The foreman is nearly always drunk. He does not make advances at the women, but be on your guard all the same. Keep your head down, and do not draw attention to yourself. I'll tell you what to do once we go to a table. Let's go." Pulling the cap as low as she could, Éponine trained her gaze at the floor and followed Hélène.

They quickly reached a table in the middle of the room and sat down. The women at the table looked at Éponine for a moment then resumed their work. Éponine, adverting her gaze, focused on the table in front of her.

The work, as she looked out of the corner of her eye, looking simple enough. The brightly colored yarn, wound tightly around spools, lay jumbled in drawer-like boxes. The women sorted the yarn into various baskets on the side of the table— based on color or texture, Éponine was not sure. Looking furtively around the room once more, she began.

As she worked quickly, Éponine found that as long as she focused at least partially on the task, she could let her mind wander and notice things in the room. She noticed the humid air that stifled the breath out of her lungs, the clicking of hundreds of spools landing in baskets, the women around her focused intently on their work.

Unexpectedly, the impending wedding came to her mind. The word had never quite been real to her until at this instant. _Marriage_. The word sunk in.

_I am getting married_.

Éponine feel as if her emotions did not know whether to throw up or cry. _What am I getting into?_ It was not as if she had given Enjolras much of a choice. _Father didn't, either_, a voice inside her head whispered. _But I could have handled it_, she argued back. _I had no right in bringing Enjolras into this._

_Deal with it_, the voice said severely. _Stop making yourself sick with worrying and figure it out._

A harsh bell rang out, grating in Éponine's ears and making her wince. "What does that signify?" she whispered to Hélène.

"It's noon. We are allowed fifteen minutes to eat and rest." Hélène stood up.

"It's noon already?" Éponine asked, surprised. "Didn't we just arrive?"

Hélène grimaced. "Be glad you aren't going to work here for the rest of your life, and you don't have to get used to it." Éponine sighed and rubbed her temples, attempting to weaken the headache that had been building throughout the day. Hélène handed her a loaf of bread, and Éponine picked at it, her appetite gone.

As Hélène and Éponine ate— rather, Hélène ate and Éponine turned the bread over in her hands— Éponine heard strains of a conversation behind her.

"…do you remember that incident in Montreuil-sur-Mer, about fourteen years ago?" a sharp, critical voice said.

"I'm not sure I do," a gentler voice answered.

"You don't remember Fantine? The one that always had the letters delivered directly to the factory?" The other voice did not respond, and the woman continued. "It was quite shameful, really. She had an illegitimate child that she hid in some village."

"Jacqueline, it was just idle gossip."

"No, it wasn't, Margaret. She sent money to the people who took care of her daughters— innkeepers, I think they were."

"Are you sure you aren't talking about someone else? I don't remember this Fantine."

"Brown eyes, tan skin, hair that fell to her waist, the lot. She was always a favorite of the foreman."

Something stirred in Éponine's memory. She faintly recalled a woman with a young child come to Montfermeil. The woman, if she remembered correctly, fit the description the woman had spoken, and the girl…

The girl had blonde hair and blue eyes, and was three years old.

Éponine found it hard to believe that, by pure chance, she had found out the name of Cosette's mother. _Fantine_.

The bell rang again harshly, interrupting her thoughts. She sighed and went back to work.

* * *

><p><strong>Yes, I do know that the allusion to Fantine serves absolutely no purpose whatsoever. Get over it.<strong>


	14. Chapter 14

To Whom This May Concern:

Thank you for the reviews I have received for _Une Révolution Victorieuse_. I am very grateful for your support.

That said, I must confess _Une Révolution Victorieuse_ is at a standstill, currently. It is not going the way I thought it would, and I cannot think of where to go from here. I would appreciate the opinions of the readers of this fanfic. If you have an idea, share your thoughts. I promise I will read and consider every post.

One "restriction," I do have: please keep everyone in character. Enjolras should not do anything drastically out of his nature, nor should Éponine, et cetera. And everything _**MUST**_ be appropriate. I will **not** accept anything inappropriate.

Please post your ideas in the reviews. Thank you!

-Camberleigh Fauconbridge


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